


Slap Happy

by themegalosaurus



Series: J2 Set Stories [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Face Slapping, Impact Play, Kink Discovery, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2019-09-07 02:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: "Slap me in the face," says Jensen.





	Slap Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on Tumblr in relation to [this post](http://themegalosaurus.tumblr.com/post/156603317233)

“Slap me in the face,” says Jensen; and Jared does, hard enough that Jensen’s teeth clash together and he fishes half a splintered molar out of his mouth. 

“What the fuck,” he says, stunned, and Jared wheezes with drawn-out laughter, tears running down his face, bent over in the middle of the Toronto street with his hands on his knees as he howls at Jensen’s shocked expression. 

“You asked for it!” he says, and Misha says, 

“I mean, he isn’t wrong.” 

Jensen blinks a few times, rearranges his jaw, shakes away the stars that are spinning across his vision. Then the hilarity of the situation sinks in and he’s laughing too, cheek scraping painfully across the jagged surface of the broken tooth. 

“What were you thinking, man?” says Misha, and Jensen says, 

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t. It just felt like a good idea. 

“Dude,” says Jared, hand heavy on Jensen’s shoulder, “dude, dude, dude, Misha, I know what we should do now.” 

The hotel wrestling match that follows leaves Misha with an elbow that he can’t work properly for the next six months; Jared with a bruised rib that twinges every time he laughs; and Jensen with rug burn across his forehead and chin. It also leaves him with a low-burning, queasy curiosity that he doesn’t let himself examine. That is, not until six months later when they’re at another convention, in Jersey this time, and he and Jared are out by themselves and they’re wasted, again; soaked through with wine and four or five whiskey chasers, stumbling giggling up a New York backstreet to their hotel. 

Jared has his arm around Jensen, his weight swinging unevenly against him, and suddenly Jensen’s flushed with a giddy adrenaline rush that he half-recognises but doesn’t try to stop. 

“Hey, Jared,” he says, “hey, you should slap me in the face.” 

Jared turns his head towards him, wide eyes right up close, pink cheeks, whiskey breath. His eyebrows draw together, forehead furrowing, and he lets his arm drop from Jensen’s shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. 

Jensen is fizzing all over, little electric sparks through his veins. “Go on,” he says. He pushes his chin forward, shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Hit me.” 

The tip of Jared’s tongue flicks out across his lips. He raises his hand; but he doesn’t draw it all the way back like he did in Toronto, doesn’t let fly with the same uncontrolled power. This time, he delivers a deliberate, open-palmed slap across Jensen’s cheek. Jensen’s teeth don’t rattle in his skull. But the hot sharp sting of the contact radiates out across his body, shooting through his nervous system and settling urgent and tight in his groin. He stares at Jared, silent, chest heaving. Jared meets his gaze, dark-eyed. 

Jensen clears his throat. “Do it again,” he says.


End file.
